Tartarus Beckons, Edmund Batara [bts book recommendations .TXT] 📗

know how to read a little.” In his nervousness, he forgot the Your Nobleness part.

“Good! Good! Now here’s a job for you! Your name! You didn’t give me your name!” the old man exclaimed.

“Salemon…”

He never got to add the honorifics, as the old man immediately cut in. Though Salemon again resented the fact that his name was never asked in the first place.

“What in the name of the seven hells was that name? Your father named you after a fish?”

“It’s Salemon, sire, milord…”

The old man didn’t give him a chance to finish his salutations again.

“Ah, Salemon! Better! You look like an honest man! A true subject of the realm! Helping people in distress! Here’s a job for you. I have an heirloom with me, one dear to my heart! I fear robbers and other dangers ahead on my trip to the capital! I’ll give you six, count that! Six gold quarters to safeguard it for me! It has no value whatsoever except sentimental of course! I’ll pick it up on this spot, at midday, forty days from tomorrow!”

Salemon was starting to be deafened by the old man’s voice. It had a strange quality to it, one which makes a person dizzy the more it is heard. But the woodcutter knew he couldn’t refuse. The fortune was actually a godsend. If the old man ordered him to do the job without remuneration, he’d be stuck with it.

“Here! Take care of it! Look up and come closer, young man! How could you get it if you’re looking at the ground and staging that far away?”

The dizzy and greatly intimidated woodcutter rushed forward and just in time, caught the bottle as the old man let go of it. Then a hand extended one and a half gold coins.

“Take care of it, Salemon! Or I’ll have your head and nail it to your feet! And my name is Baron Galben! Remember that!”

A Baron? thought the shocked Salemon as his knees started to shake again. He was now vividly imagining the glinting edge of the headsman’s ax.

The old man in the carriage laughed softly as the coach drove away. It was not an evil laugh which was usually marked by loudness, melodramatic changes in pitch, and stared with the syllable mwa. No, this laugh was more like an amused chuckle, something which a friendly innkeeper would give at your drunken recitation of how bad your day was.

“I think you’ll do, Salemon. Yes, I believe you’ll do,” said the being to himself as his appearance changed to that of a clean-shaven younger man with white hair.

The passenger waved his right hand in the air, and a large circular display appeared, showing Salemon walking along the road, firewood carried on his back. The bottle was strapped with ropes on top of the pile.

The entity gave an expectant grin at the sight and after a few moments, snapped his fingers.

The large, ornate glass broke into pieces.

***

“So, it begins,” chuckled the man in the carriage. Then laughter rang out as his self-control disappeared when Salemon’s disbelieving face showed up on the magical display. Crisp and clear, it revealed the woodcutter staring at the broken pieces of glass on the ground, oblivious to the faint streams of luminous and dark tendrils now surrounding him. The airy, thin strands swirled around his form, as if examining the heedless mortal.

“Is everything alright, my lord?” came the solicitous query from the coachman.

“Yes, Aril. Something funny came to mind. Let’s go home. A show is better watched and enjoyed in comfortable surroundings.”

“At once, my lord,” answered Aril as the carriage swiftly vanished, leaving behind an empty and dusty stretch of the King’s Highway.

Back on the road, Salemon still stared at the disaster. His head was spinning, and the man fought a valiant yet losing battle against fainting due to the shock. In his mind, he could now clearly see the figure of the cloaked headsman and the huge, sharp ax the executioner twirled around his body as he approached Salemon. Unfortunately, the woodcutter had a very vivid imagination.

As the ax-wielding giant in his mind raised the large blade, Salemon finally fainted. And immediately woke up in a dark space, where dim illumination came from ghostly forms surrounding him. He abruptly realized that he was in the middle of a circle formed by the phantoms. Absolute, miserable terror gripped his bowels as Salemon believed his worst fear had come true – he was dead and in the infernal abyss.

My gods! Why have you abandoned me? I have not sinned against your commandments, wailed Salemon in his thoughts. Then he stopped, shaken to his core as something important came to mind.

Yes, there was that dryad, but I didn’t know sexual contact with such beings was prohibited! And I did not have sexual intercourse with her! She did use her mouth, but that was even painful at times, especially during the summer when her sap was low. And her mouth and tongue were hard as wood! Sometimes I even got splinters down there!

Finally, Salemon couldn’t stop himself and started crying. It began as little sobs, but as the dike was opened, his expression of sorrow leveled up to deafening wails. Then he realized the spectral figures had started talking among themselves, though in whispers which echoed through the dim space.

“What’s the matter with this fellow?” a voice murmured.

“Did we get a crazy one?” That question had a woe-is-us tone to it.

“Kick him in the ass, that’ll put some sense into him! Worked with my worshippers before!” a gruff voice suggested.

A mumble of protests rose at the suggestion of physical violence.

“I think we got a wimp!” This time, a scornful one.

“I believe he just needs care and attention,” said a kindly voice.

“Therapy?” Somebody answered.

“Get my whip! Mortals these days! They’ve gone soft!” cried out a booming voice.

That terrified Salemon even more, and he instinctively glanced at the speaker. A reaction which unfortunately revealed to him the faces and shapes of those surrounding him. With a shock, Salemon also found he couldn’t